Showing posts with label flood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flood. Show all posts

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Sinkholes and Floods

I've been living in a strange and precarious situation for about a week and keep meaning to write a post but more stuff keeps happening.

So I'm keeping a running commentary over at my Facebook page with public posts.

Eventually I will write one long blog post on it, but for now, if you'd like to catch up on the mess and the danger and the progress of the sinkholes that have appeared all along the side of the apartment building I live in, check out the Facebook posts: https://www.facebook.com/brenda.clews

Last Tuesday morning, July 9th, I did post a video, there was one from the previous day too. It's worse now, though.

direct link

Other holes appeared after that was filled, and a new still-tiny one in the past few hours very close to the walkway and my only door.

I'll come by and make a long post soon.

xo

___

 brendaclews.com

Thursday, July 10, 2008

When the Grey of the Sky

When the grey of the sky descends with a feeling of chaos. A windless night while a thunderstorm ensues. We shut the windows, water pouring in.

The basement floods, where my son sleeps, an inch of water; we mop and lay old towels wringing water out for hours until it is dry. The vibrant orange vegetable dyes of his kilim carpet bleeding a little, otherwise no damage. My birth paintings are stored there but the water didn't go that far in.

My son is sad on the night of the flood, it's interim, his staying with me, nothing was damaged but a right mess and will it happen again?

The morning after the flood, the rush of muddy water, clothes that were on the floor, towels, laundry half the night, storm waters, what washed through us?

We threw the wet high density foam mattress in the basement that was a buffer protecting boxes of files, my paintings, out. It dried in the Summer sun beside the building.

Last night it was comfort for a dreaming homeless tattooed man. The white waterproof cotton sheet that covered the old mattress crumpled into a soft bed for his dog sleeping beside him.

I see him in the morning, he sleeps late. The day is sunny and cooler, and I photograph him between the trees, past our swatch of backyard.

In this neighborhood of millionaires and university students, the city will quickly remove such comforts for the outcasts who beg on Bloor Street.